


The Sound of Your Voice

by AustinB



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Identity Reveal, Karen Page is the light of my life, Mild Language, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-29
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-25 18:11:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,374
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3820012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AustinB/pseuds/AustinB
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Dude is fine," she says with finality, slapping the paper down on the conference table where she and Foggy sit, trying to discuss supply and employee budgets, but basically just hanging out. </p><p>From behind his desk across the office, Matt chokes on his coffee. Karen doesn't seem to notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Listen

**Author's Note:**

> Have you ever binged so hard on something you forget the characters aren't real? *ugly crying*

Karen censors herself for present company. Though what comes out is still her honest opinion, it lacks several adjectives that would probably make Foggy give her his faux-shocked face.

"Dude is fine," she says with finality, slapping the paper down on the conference table where she and Foggy sit, trying to discuss supply and employee budgets, but basically just hanging out. Foggy is equally interested in the article, complete with new pictures of Daredevil in an alley amidst four prone bodies, though for very different reasons.

From behind his desk across the office, Matt chokes on his coffee. Karen doesn't seem to notice.

Foggy pulls a confounded face instead, "You can only see half his face."

"It's enough. Plus that smoking body. Like, abs you can see through his shirt. The black one anyway. This purple one, not so much," Karen says with a hand gesture Foggy interprets as _More's the pity._

"Huh. You're shallower than I thought you were," Foggy says.

Karen rolls her eyes. "It's more than that. It's like. You know how when you know someone's convictions, their dedication, it _makes_ them attractive?"

"Well I guess we know what you're into. That's it. I'm putting in my order for spandex tonight," Foggy says. "What do you think? Gold, to match my hair?"

Karen snorts, "Oh, no. That'll wash you out. Blue. Bring out your eyes."

"See, _this_ is why we pay you."

* * *

There are flowers waiting on her desk when she arrives. And pink crepe paper strung crookedly from corner to corner of her desk. She's usually the first one in, so either one of the boys got up early for the occasion, or set them up after she'd left the night before. A wave of affection and gratitude hits her hard and her chest tightens against it.

"Happy birthday!" Foggy announces, hurrying out of his office and throwing his arms out toward the decorations. 

"Thank you, Foggy, this is so nice." Her family always used to make a big deal for her, and the last several birthdays had been severely depressing for the lack of it. She bites her lower lip to will away tears that burn behind her eyes. She walks around her desk to smell the flowers, and notices a box of chocolates, too.

"I can't believe you remembered," she says quietly.

"Of course I remembered," Foggy says, offended. He taps his temple. "Steel trap. Plus you mentioned it like four times last week."

"I did not! I mentioned it once last month and you remembered because you're sweet," she accuses, and he relents.

"Alright, jeesh don't go spreading it around. Reputation and all that."

Matt comes in a few minutes later to find them trying to guess which chocolate has which filling without looking at the cheat sheet on the underside of the lid. He's carrying a small garment box, and Karen's heart skips.

"Good morning," Karen says innocently.

"Happy birthday," he replies, crossing to her desk and holding the box out to her. It isn't wrapped, but inside is a nice wool dress. Emerald green, with a square neckline and a pencil skirt that will hit her just below her knees. 

"Wow," Foggy says for her. "Damn smooth, Murdock."

"This is gorgeous, Matt, thank you," Karen finally manages. Matt looks like he's trying not to smile too widely. She wishes he would stop.

"I hope it fits. There was some guesswork involved."

"It's the right size," Karen says after checking the tag. She looks to Foggy for some sort of explanation as to _how the hell?_ but he just shrugs.

* * *

While clients still aren't banging down their door, business has picked up since their involvement in the Fisk case. Matt is taking point on a custody case for a woman accused of domestic abuse because she defended herself against her boyfriend, while Foggy is defending a man from a minor B&E charge.

She misses the quiet, sometimes. The days when it was just the three of them against the world. But their family is growing. The woman Matt is helping regain custody of her daughter is at the office more often than not, sitting in the conference room nursing a steadily flowing cup of coffee and looking miserable. 

When she's faced with the stark reality of the problems other people deal with, the list of hospital stays Miranda's had and the breaks on top of breaks, it makes her feel even more guilty for pitying herself.

But she still has to steady herself sometimes, when the memory haunts her, even in broad daylight. Dark red creeping into crisp white. The shock of disbelief and then the slackness of death. Sometimes just sitting across a table from someone, or a man in a suit will make her hands shake. Which can be a problem, considering she works with two well-dressed lawyers. And even more of a problem because one of them is so perceptive, even without his sight.

Matt is in the office a lot more these days, and only comes in with minor cuts and bruises occasionally. Karen pretends to accept his excuses (Caught a cupboard corner, An overzealous taxi door, Slipped in a puddle on the stoop) but she's seen him, when he doesn't realize she's watching. The way he moves, graceful and easy.

She goes into the conference room to refill Miranda's coffee cup. The dark-haired woman raises her face from where it was propped in her hands and grunts.

"You gotta stop with the coffee. A pin drops in here and I fly across the room like a cat."

"Sorry," Karen grimaces, "I just want to help."

Miranda sighs. "Get my daughter back."

"We will. Matt," Karen gestures vaguely behind her with the coffee pot, to where Matt is bent over his desk, partially hidden by books. "He will." She can only hope that the conviction in her voice and a warm smile will give Miranda confidence that this will all be over soon. Karen knows it will. If there's anything she believes in anymore, it's him.

* * *

It's St. Patty's Day, and the party people are out in force, Irish and otherwise, no matter that it's 8 in the morning. She opens up the office and smooths down her new green dress as she sits to check the messages. A man's voice on the machine sounds a little bit like someone else's, and she slams her hand down on the recorder to stop the playback. Stares at her hand where it rests until it stops shaking.

"Karen?" Matt says gently, just closing the door behind him. She jumps and snaps her head up to him. "Are you ok?"

"Yeah, fine," she says with a breathy chuckle that he doesn't buy. "Just checking the messages. Can you believe it, we have messages?"

He smiles. That's better.

"We're gonna have to start turning people away," he says.

"Yeah right," Foggy says as he enters. "Like you'd ever turn anybody away."

Matt just tilts his head in concession and moves toward his office. Karen stands quickly, her chair rolling back and bouncing softly against the wall. 

"I'm um. I'm wearing the dress. That you got me," she squeaks, and winces. Matt turns back, still smiling.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it. And I didn't get pinched this morning."

Matt laughs a little, and Karen files that feeling away for later. "I'm sure you look beautiful."

"She does," Foggy says, crossing in front of her desk with a piece of paper. "You do," he says to her, and flicks the page. "Police took a statement from Miranda's neighbor that she saw her boyfriend hit another woman he was with a few weeks ago."

It's not much, but it'll be enough. Karen calls Miranda in and they all sit in the conference room with her to share the news. She cries on Foggy's shoulder and hugs them all tightly.

"How 'bout it, K? Coming out with Nelson and Murdock, Attorneys at Law, for some green beer?" Foggy says that afternoon.

"I'd love to, but I have a date," she says cheerfully. 

"A date?" Matt repeats, his fingers pausing over his Braille display. Karen fights a blush.

"Yeah, a friend of mine invited me out with her friends."

"Oh," Matt says, and clears his throat. Karen catches Foggy rolling his eyes. "Well, be careful."

"Yes, mother," she sings sweetly and is rewarded with the smile that means he thinks she's being cute.

She's pretty excited for the occasion, even if it is only green beer in a bar full of loud drunks. She doesn't have many people. She doesn't have _any_ people really, aside from Matt and Foggy. She met Jill at the yoga studio she's been going to. She'd been trying out a bunch of different gyms, but the mindlessness of sitting on a stationary bike didn't appeal to her. The yoga classes are difficult enough to require constant attention, and the movements varied enough to distract her from feeling the weight of a gun in her hands. 

Matt reminds her once more as they all leave the office together to be careful, reaching out to circle her wrist with one hand. She has no smart reply this time, and promises that she will be.

"She's a quick draw with the mace, Matt, leave her alone," Foggy says, ushering him into a cab.

Jill's friends Nana and Willow meet up with them later in the night, and they dance and sing karaoke until the bars close. Karen already feels the blissful heaviness of exhaustion in her limbs as she waves goodbye at the subway and makes her way home. The fear of vulnerability trumped the temptation to get stupid drunk, and she's steady on her heels as she gets off the train and walks the few quiet blocks to her apartment. She'd changed out of the wool dress Matt had gotten her in favor of a shorter black dress, better for dancing. Despite the warm spell, it's still chilly enough at 3a.m. to make her shiver without a coat.

About three blocks away from her place, she gets the feeling she's not alone. She glances over her shoulder and sees a man a half a block behind, wearing a jean jacket over a grey hoodie, with the hood up to cast shadows over his face. She walks faster, fishing around in her purse for her mace. When she glances behind a moment later, he's gone, but it doesn't make her feel any better.

As she passes by the mouth of an alley, a hand grabs her bicep and roughly pulls her out of the light of the street lamps, tearing her purse out of her hands in the same motion. She takes a deep breath for a scream, but a hard jab to her gut knocks it all out. She falls onto her ass on the concrete, doubled over and gasping. _Goddamn_ her luck. And _fuck_ this asshole.

When she looks up again, hands curling into fists, the man who'd hit her is scrabbling on the ground and spitting blood. She's confused for a moment, until the man in the mask--Daredevil--steps into the light and grabs her attacker by the collar, yanking him roughly up. There's a tussle that's too fast and too dark for her to track, but the creep is clearly more tenacious than he is skilled. He tumbles to the ground at her feet and grabs a pipe from a pile of nearby garbage as he scrabbles to stand again. 

Karen sees an opening and takes it without really thinking. She kicks one leg out, knocking the guy in the back of the knees. He sprawls forward, pitching all his weight into Daredevil's oncoming roundhouse. When he slams back against the brick and falls into the garbage, he doesn't get back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These two are clearly soulmates and my shipper heart is breaking.
> 
> Holla at me, friends. I want to know all of your thoughts.


	2. Greedy, Greedy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes he has to remind himself. She plays her roles well and her insightfulness comes as a surprise too often to those who underestimate her. Matt won't be one of them again. For all that she is blue sky and summer wind, she's sunset and fire too.
> 
> She's everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The question came up of how Matt knew what color would look good on Karen for her birthday dress, and suburbanomad came up with this, which is too good not to share:  
> "Hey, Foggy," Matt says.  
> "Yeah, buddy?" Foggy replies, not looking up from his laptop.  
> "Would you say Karen's more of a summer or an autumn?"  
> "Oh, she's totally a spring," he says with certainty and no hesitation. "Strawberry blonde, warm undertones." They work in silence for a few minutes, until Foggy lifts his head.  
> "Wait, why?"  
> Matt quirks a half smile. "No reason."

* * *

Is it a little creepy that he followed her? Probably. Does he care? Not at all. Especially not now that it's been justified.

Karen scrambles up and grabs her purse from where it lay, contents half spilled across the alley and out onto the sidewalk. She raises it above her head with both hands and smacks her unconscious attacker on the arm. Then she does it once more for good measure.

"Prick," she growls, and Matt realizes something about her he hadn't known before.

She's ferocious.

It's breathtaking.

He'd always known she's strong of will and character. He'd realized long ago that she's brave, but he's a little surprised that it's anger rather than fear that she defaults to. It lights her up in hot flames that dance off her skin in the cool spring night. Something about it calls to the dark places in him on a baser level and when she turns to face him he's already crowding into her space. He hooks a hand around the back of her neck and without any further thought, crushes his lips to hers. The bag slips from her hands and lands with a thud on the concrete at her feet. They're both breathing hard, and he pulls away quickly, taking two steps back out of her space.

"You need to be more careful," he manages to say, his voice so rough it startles him. She scoffs, but bites back whatever smart retort she had in mind as he pulls out his burner phone to call in the attack to the police. He'll zip tie the guy to a lamp post, but Karen will still have to press charges.

"Do you remember me?" she asks, after he hangs up and drags the guy out to the street. He breathes a little easier once the tie zips his wrists together around the pole, but only a little. He straightens and turns to her, fighting the voice in his head that's telling him to run.  _Too close, too close._

"Of course I remember you." Does she thinks he kisses all the women he meets in dark alleys? 

Her sudden stillness is unsettling. He feels exposed, standing there under the soft glow of the lamplight. The way Karen is zeroing in on him isn't helping.

_Run, run._

"Why can't I see your eyes?" she asks. A car turns the corner behind her and Karen glances over her shoulder toward the flashing lights. He takes the opportunity to scale the building and is vaulting onto the roof by the time she calls out "Wait!"

He's lying awake in his bed two hours later when his phone chirps, "Karen, Karen, Karen," like a mockery of his thoughts. He answers in a rush.

"Karen? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, everything's fine," she says, sounding like she's just realized it's 4 a.m. and is deeply regretting the call. "I just wanted to," she pauses. He hears her breath catch through the receiver in a way that makes him think she's switching gears. "I just wanted to let you know I got home ok."

He huffs a laugh, "Thank you, I appreciate it. You sure you're alright?"

There's a pause, and he wonders if she'll tell him about the kiss, if she'll even tell him about the attack. She's lied to him before, and even if they've grown closer over the past few months, she still plays things almost as close to the chest as he does.

"Yeah, I'm fine," she says, and it sounds like she means it. Matt feels the strange duality of his life again as a shot of jealousy hits him in the gut. "I'll see you Monday."

He drifts a little just before sunrise, dreaming about the flames licking off her skin.

* * *

"Karen Elizabeth Page," Foggy says as he storms in after lunch. 

"That's not my middle name," she says, hands stilling on her desk where she's opening a box of supplies from Amazon.

"How could you not have told me?"

Matt goes to stand in the doorway of his office and feels Foggy's glare on him. He gets the feeling the question is meant for both of them.

"Karen was attacked,  _Matt_."

"I didn't want you to worry. It's fine, _I'm_ fine, everything's _fine_. I don't know if he was just after my purse or. Either way. Nothing happened."

"Thank god," Foggy says, still worked up.

"Thank Daredevil, he's the one who stopped it," she says. 

"Well, I'm glad he was there," Matt says toward Foggy. He feels a glare on him again.

"I just wish I could thank him. He ran off before I could get my act together. Hey, you guys got some information from him on the Fisk case. Do you know anything about him?"

Foggy refuses to answer for him, so Matt says awkwardly, "I don't think he's the kind you can really know. He probably doesn't want people getting too close. It'd be dangerous for them."

He hears Foggy grinding his teeth. 

"I mean, I imagine," he says to the silence.

"Yeah?" Karen says in a tone he can't parse. "You imagine?" She lets that sit for a moment before asking Foggy, "And just how did you find out?"

"I know, like, a ton of cops," he says, and Matt retreats into his office, no longer part of the conversation. "What is your middle name, by the way?"

"Uh uh, I'm not gonna tell you if you're just gonna use it against me."

"Stop getting in trouble then and I wouldn't have to use it against you," he says, moving to put his bag away in his office as Karen pours him a cup of coffee and follows him in.

"You know I can make no guarantees," she says. Matt has gotten good at hiding his reactions to conversations he shouldn't be able to hear, but it's still hard not to smile. Foggy must make a face, because Karen says, "Shut up and drink it."

"Karen," Foggy calls to her when she's in the doorway. His breathing changes the way it does when he's about to say something important, but he just opens and shuts his mouth helplessly.

"I love you too," she says softly, a smile in her voice.

Foggy fights back his knee jerk reaction to make a joke and lets the sentiment be. Just overhearing the exchange warms Matt, the way you can feel the heat of a room from outside, if you press your hand to the glass. But he can't open that door, not with her. He's greedy; it wouldn't be enough, and there can be nothing more. Claire was right about that. He won't do that to Karen. She deserves so much better. She deserves the best.

* * *

For all his strength, he's weak too. In some ways. For some people more than others.

"I'm thinking about moving," Karen says one night when it's just the two of them working at the conference table. Foggy went out with Marci, and Matt can't decide if he's glad to have some time alone with her or not.

He tries not to let any panic bleed into his voice, "Where to?"

"I don't know, somewhere...else. Safer? If there's such a thing. I thought my neighborhood was safe, and then."

Just a different apartment, not a different city. He decides he's glad for the time with her. If it makes his fingers ache to touch her, it's worth it. She feels like standing under a sunny sky. Like cool air after a stuffy room. He'll just tighten his fingers around the cane he doesn't need, to keep his traitorous body in check.

"I know a realtor, brother of a guy we went to school with. I'll give him a call."

Her silence sounds grateful. Perhaps she thought he'd try talking her out of it. Tell her to will away the demons. But he knows better than most how stubborn demons can be.

"Thank you," she says, extending her hand, palm down on the table, not quite touching. He wants to close the distance, but if she wanted to touch him, she wouldn't have stopped. Or maybe she wants him to touch her. His fingers twitch.

Sometimes he has to remind himself. She plays her roles well and her insightfulness comes as a surprise too often to those who underestimate her. Matt won't be one of them again. For all that she is blue sky and summer wind, she's sunset and fire too.

She's everything. 

"No problem," he says.

* * *

He invites himself along when she meets up with the realtor. She doesn't question it; happy to have him near. She elbows him in the ribs to get him to take her arm and he tightens his other hand around his cane. The itch in his fingers becomes an ache in his bones, blooming from his fingertips up his arms and into his chest.

_Greedy, greedy._

He puts in his vote for the loft nearest the office. It has strong window frames and open stairwells, families with kids in the adjoining apartments. She agrees that it's nice. Homey.

They stop for dinner afterward. "I feel like pizza," she announced, so he offered to buy some. 

"The cheap kind though, my boss doesn't pay well."

She laughs and they haggle on the price for the meal, before settling on the next place they come upon. She's taken his arm to lead him this time and as they stand in line together she starts to pull away. He pinches her arm to his side, shooting her a sidelong smile. She bumps him with her shoulder and slides her arm back through his.

_Greedy, greedy._

He waits with her outside for a cab.

"Thanks for your help today," she says.

"No problem, I was happy to. I'm glad you found someplace you like."

"Me too. And I expect you to help me move next month."

"I'll be there. I might break more than I move, but I'll be there."

"Hm, I doubt that," she says as a cab pulls up.

He reaches out for her arm before she can slip away. Just one more touch before the contact high wears off. To get him through, in case there's not another chance. Just one more. He's selfish, starving for her attention even as she lavishes it on him. Just one more.

He trails his touch down her bare arm from her elbow to her hand, where he squeezes lightly, just for a moment, letting go before she can respond. Her heartbeat doubles, and the rush of pleasure and pride makes it hard for his smile to feel completely innocent.

"See you tomorrow," he says with a friendly smile. Because that's all this is. All it can be. Friends.

"Yeah. Yeah, goodnight," she says, and ducks into the waiting cab.

* * *

The judge rules for Miranda and Matt returns to the office in high spirits. He'd gone with Miranda to CPS, where she was able to pick her daughter up and take her home. 

Foggy produces a bottle of champagne from somewhere and they drink it from coffee cups.

"Nelson and Murdock!" Karen toasts.

"I'll drink to that," Foggy says, knocking his mug back and refilling it.

Karen snorts, "Why don't you just drink straight from the bottle."

"Don't give him any ideas," Matt says. Foggy pretends to go for the bottle and Karen intercepts him, laughing.

"Hey, you guys should come over. We'll have dinner and celebrate," Matt says, feeling a lightness he hasn't in years. Maybe it's the champagne or the victory. Maybe it's the company. 

"What, both of us?" Foggy asks, looking between him and Karen. She ducks her head to hide her face behind her hair, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.

"Yeah, Nelson," Matt says.

"Nah," Foggy replies instantly. "I'm busy."

Matt doesn't call him out on it, so Foggy figures it was the right call.

"Karen?" Matt prompts, and her breath catches the way it does every time he says her name.

She pulls her shoulders up to her ears and lets them down with a puff of air and a bright, "Sure!"

"Ok, well I don't have any food, so-"

Karen laughs. The sound rattles around in his head like a marble in a jar, the only thing between his ears.

Great idea, Murdock. Invite the strong, charming, kind, beautiful woman over and try not to fuck it up. Bask in her nearness like a cat in the sun. Tempt yourself. Set yourself up for failure. And love every minute of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your interest and kind comments! Please continue sharing your thoughts!  
> This will be the only chapter in Matt's POV, we return to Karen for the remaining chapters.


	3. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have a general idea. I mean, I know you're beautiful," he says effortlessly.
> 
> "What makes you think that?" she huffs with a nervous laugh.
> 
> "I can hear it in your voice. Plus Foggy told me. I believe him."
> 
> "Can you really hear that in a voice?" She's skeptical. It sounds a little bit like a line. Maybe it's just the way he said it. He could read the dictionary and it would sound sexy. He grins.
> 
> "Well, it's more than that. Remember what you said about the man in the mask? Daredevil? How when you know someone and their convictions they become beautiful to you. It's like that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *obligatory face touching*

* * *

Karen picks up a bag of groceries on her way to Matt's. Ingredients for something quick and easy, an old staple: chicken and broccoli, plus a six pack.

The thread that's been holding her together is getting weaker, but it's still there. She doesn't need to reset as often during the day anymore, the memory has consolidated to haunt her at night more often than not. She relishes the opportunity for company instead of staying too late at the office and then skirting around the edges of her apartment, where the memories play like a film over her eyes. The fact that the company is Matt is even better.

"I brought food," she says when he opens the door. "Well, the makings of food, anyway."

"What, now I have to cook?" he asks, exasperated, reaching for the bag. She hands it off and lets him investigate the contents as he unpacks them on the kitchen counter. He's in jeans and a T-shirt, and it's novel enough that it keeps drawing her eye. It's almost unfair, how beautiful he is at any given moment. She pops the tops from two beer bottles and sets one on the counter next to him, loudly enough so he knows where it'll be. 

"I'll walk you through it, it'll be easy I promise," she says, watching him run his hands over three broccoli crowns and an onion. 

She's only mildly distracted from cooking by watching him move around his space. He pulls out pans and knives and bowls, everything she instructs him she'll need. She's chopping the broccoli when he finishes setting out the necessary utensils.

"Let me do that, you do your sauce," he suggests, and she hesitates only a moment before relenting. He's precise at it, and faster than she expected. He's faster than  _she_  is. She really shouldn't be surprised anymore, but there it is.

"I don't hear much saucing going on over there," he says with a smirk. She feels her face heat and makes a lot of noise pouring and whisking. He snickers.

Dinner goes in the oven and they sit on the barstools at the counter for twenty five minutes, nursing their drinks and chatting. When there's five minutes left on the timer, Matt grabs two plates from a cupboard, forks and knives and sets the table. The domestic scene makes something tighten in her chest. She half wishes Foggy wouldn't have opted out. The intimacy of it makes her twitchy. She doesn't deserve it, any of his warmth. But she  _wants_  it so bad.

Matt is suitably impressed with dinner and the way he's smiling at her (and two beers) makes her bold.

"Do you," she almost chickens out, but it's a fantasy that's kept the tidal wave of grief away more than once, and she wants to know if it'll be as good as she imagines. "Do you want to know what I look like?"

"I have a general idea. I mean, I know you're beautiful," he says effortlessly.

"What makes you think that?" she huffs with a nervous laugh.

"I can hear it in your voice. Plus Foggy told me. I believe him."

"Can you really hear that in a voice?" She's skeptical. It sounds a little bit like a line. Maybe it's just the way he said it. He could read the dictionary and it would sound sexy. He grins.

"Well, it's more than that. Remember what you said about the man in the mask? Daredevil? How when you know someone and their convictions, they become beautiful to you. It's like that."

She swallows hard. The thread frays more and more the longer she swings here, on this edge. 

"Well," she says, shooting for casual. "Do you wanna know what I  _actually_  look like?"

"Yes," he says decisively with half a laugh.

"Ok, should I describe myself to you?" she asks, crossing her legs on the kitchen chair, giving him an out should he want it.

"I don't know if I trust your judgement."

Karen gasps. "What, you think I'd exaggerate?"

He shakes his head and leans forward, resting his elbows on the small table. "More like you'd downplay. I better see for myself." He reaches around and pulls her chair toward him by the front of the seat. She yelps, laughing and bracing her hands on the sides of the seat. He doesn't stop until their chairs touch, putting her squarely between his knees. He hovers his hands up in front of her face for a moment, waiting for her, making her cross the distance. She leans forward the last inch, pressing her face into his waiting hands.

She's focusing pretty hard on controlling her breathing, but he takes his time. He's trailed his fingertips down her cheeks to her chin and Karen is melting a little more with each passing second. It's almost like a massage, except he's barely touching her. He took his glasses off before dinner, and she's watching his unfocused eyes as they stare through her. They're a pretty brown, she hadn't had many opportunities to notice before. 

He swipes his thumb across her bottom lip and her eyes slide shut, her breath catching in her throat. He does it again with the other thumb before tracing up over her nose, her eyebrows, across her eyes and over to her hairline. He ghosts his hands down over her jaw to her neck, then back up to rest the pads of his thumbs on each corner of her mouth.

Karen's eyes flutter open and she's a little shocked to see a flush across his nose and dotting high on his cheekbones. She can only imagine what she must look like.

"You're more beautiful than I thought," he says.

"Is that a line?" she asks quietly, surprised to find she still retains the capacity for speech. Half a smirk pulls up one corner of his lips. 

"Depends. Is it working?"

She smiles and he hums as he feels it on her lips. Then he's leaning in to press his lips to hers softly, and his thumbs too for a moment, until he slides one hand back to comb in her hair and the other drops to her knee. She parts her lips to him, sitting there with her hands in her lap, letting him kiss her. Until he swipes his tongue against her bottom lip, then pulls it between his teeth and she comes alive, framing his face with her hands like she's dreamt of doing for months. There's something about the feel of his lips, the taste of him that's ringing bells in the back of her mind, but she's too high on adrenaline and lust to recognize it.

Karen doesn't remember moving, but she's suddenly on his lap, straddling his thighs. He's wrapped his arms tightly around her, pressing them together, and she's enjoying combing her fingers through his silky hair, tugging it up in all directions and using it to tilt his face the way she wants it.

His hands skimming along her back and gripping her hips tells her body what to do next. She rolls her hips ever so slightly, and he groans into her mouth. She swallows the sound and does it again, harder. Getting high on this power, his answering sounds, the possessive feel of his hands on her thighs. He pulls back, not letting her go completely, but tilting his head forward to rest their foreheads together. His eyes are closed and Karen marvels at what she's done to him.

"Holy shit," he breathes, and Karen leans back to laugh. He takes the opportunity to press his face against her neck, not kissing her, just being close. She can feel him smiling against her skin.

* * *

Karen is on her third cup of coffee by the time Matt comes in the next morning. They'd ignored the dishes until ten in favor of sitting on the couch laughing and kissing. She didn't get home until midnight, and didn't fall asleep until two. She can't tell if he looks tired behind his glasses, but selfishly hopes he is.

He's wearing a secret smile and the desire to kiss him is so strong it surprises the breath out of her. Instead, she says "Good morning," as professionally as she can. She has a hard time remembering how they spoke to each other just yesterday.

"What're you doing tonight?" he asks without preamble.

"Why? You askin' me on a date, Murdock?" she teases, relieved to find the easiness between them unchanged.

"Yes," he says decisively.

"Well in that case, why don't you tell me?"

"Ew, you guys, god," Foggy says loudly from his office.

Karen sputters a laugh behind her hand. Matt grimaces.

"Coffee?" she asks.

"Please."

Matt suggests picking up tacos from the truck on the corner after work and seeing what's on T.V. at his place. She agrees earnestly, mind already jumping ahead to what ifs.

By the time she reaches her apartment to change, he's texted to let her know he won't be able to make it after all. No explanation. She's frowning at the message when another comes through.

_Tomorrow?_

She agrees, and uses the evening to pack some more for the move. There's a growing pile headed for donation that leaves her with a lot less to take with her than she thought. When the emptiness of the place starts making her sad, she heads out to grab some tacos anyway. There's a place not too far, but she takes the subway instead of walking. The streets are still busy, but the subway is more brightly lit. 

There's some kind of street festival going on, and people are dressed up in all kinds of costumes, so Karen walks a few blocks in the direction of her apartment after having her quick dinner. A man dressed as a cowboy gives her a crown made of feathers and the woman with him (a genie) gives her a black plastic eye mask, so she puts them both on as she strolls. Over the voices of the crowd, she hears a clanging in the alley just beyond the edges of the sectioned-off street where the vendors are selling food, drinks and bizarre plastic accessories. A woman runs out of the alley like a bat out of hell, making a beeline straight into the heart of the crowd.

Karen pokes her head around the corner and sees a man lying on his back, groaning as he rolls over and gets to his knees. There's scuffling further beyond and she can make out two figures. One of them sprints toward the mouth of the alley, yanking on the shirt of the guy still on the ground. Karen leans back out of the way, pressing back against the brick building. Together the men stumble out at a run in the opposite direction of the woman. Karen hustles into the alley, shoving the plastic mask up onto her forehead.

"Hey!" she calls. He's standing there with a backpack in his hands, the zipper open and he freezes with his hand inside. "It's me. I just. Wanted to say thank you, I guess. For both times you've helped me."

"No need," he says, zipping the pack up and slinging it onto one shoulder. He turns to go.

"Wait!" He turns back and she advances on him, not slowing as she approaches. Her blood is rushing in her ears, drowning out the low sounds of life outside the alley, shrinking her world to just the two of them. She puts one palm flat against the armor over his stomach and walks him backward to the wall. He lets her, his lips parting just slightly. His eyes are covered, but she just spent a decent amount of time with that mouth.

The sudden clarity of it is dizzying. There'd always been something about him. That quiet strength she hadn't expected. Two hours after they met, a blind stranger told her he'd keep her safe, and she knew it to be true.

"What should I call you?" she purrs, and her voice sounds strange to her ears, like it's not even hers. 

"You know I can't tell you my name," he says, but he's uncertain about it. Like if she asked again, he just might. But she'd rather make him sweat a little bit, if she can. 

"What if I give you one, then? What if I call you...Matt?" He tenses under her fingers and a thrill of  _something_  shoots through her side-by-side with anger. "Because that's your name isn't it,  _Matt_?" she snaps the last word.

He won't insult her intelligence by denying it. His silence is enough of a confession anyway. When he slips past her, she lets him. It's not the time or place for this discussion. He's leapt up onto a fire escape by the time she turns around, but he pauses there.

"You know where to find me," he says, and is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU for all your lovely comments and support! I love y'all.


	4. I Don't Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's slightly mortified to learn he can hear heartbeats, sense body heat in the air. All the times she--he must know by now. He must know.
> 
> It's two in the morning and the billboard casts a pallid glow over the room, the lamp in the corner doing nothing to warm the light. Karen stands at the window watching the advertisements flash on a cycle. She can't decide if he's even further above her now, or closer. She thinks maybe it doesn't matter anymore.

* * *

She paces outside his door for 45 minutes waiting for him to come back. She doesn't bother knocking. He'll know she's there.

He opens the door wearing jeans and a T-shirt. His feet are bare and there's a butterfly bandaid over his right eyebrow, a mauve bruise blossoming on his jaw. She shoulders her way bodily inside before the door is fully open. He lets her knock into him a little, and it only serves to make her angrier.

She starts and aborts several sentences as she storms around his coffee table. He sits gingerly in a kitchen chair, looking apologetic and trepidatious.

"How?" Karen asks sharply, punctuating the question with a vicious jab in his direction.

He starts to explain an accident when he was a kid, abilities, training.

"No," she cuts him off. "How could you have kept this from us? Every time we talked about the man in the mask, you played along. All the times you took my arm like you needed my help. You made a fool of us."

"I never meant-"

She interrupts his excuses with a sharp laugh, sinking down on the arm of one armchair and hovering one hand about her mouth. "Foggy knows," she breathes, mostly to herself, because  _of course_. She can even pinpoint when he found out. It makes so much sense, now that she's allowed it to be a possibility. When she glances up, Matt is smiling softly, like he's proud of her. And damn if that doesn't thrill her.

"That night you were hit by a car. At least that explains your falling out, and his complete 180 on Daredevil. And all the times you fell, missed work. How could I not have seen it before?" she muses.

"To be fair, I was a little more careful with everyone else," Matt says, going for a rueful smile. "Never kissed anyone in the mask before."

"Yeah, that was gonna be my next question," Karen sighs and slides down into the seat of the cushy chair, the fight gone from her. She's suddenly exhausted, crashing after the adrenaline slips away.

"I'm sorry," he says, head bowed.

"For what, kissing me in the alley?"

"Yeah," he says on a sigh, scrubbing one hand down his face. "And everything else." He lifts his face to her. "Karen, I'm so sorry."

"I understand it. Really, I do." She always has. "Doesn't mean I'm not pissed."

"You should be. You should hate me." He sounds a little confused, like he wishes she wasn't taking this so well. Foggy didn't speak to him for a week after he found out. But she's had a while to get used to the idea. It's been at the back of her mind for weeks, even if she refused to acknowledge it until tonight.

"Well I wouldn't go that far." She couldn't imagine a thing that could make her hate him. He has a good soul; everything else is just incidental, forgivable.

"You should run," he says soft and low, and it sounds like a warning, maybe a threat. It makes her hackles rise again.

"Fuck you, I'm not gonna–-you know me. I don't run."

Matt smiles, crinkling the corners of his tired eyes. "I know," he says, and cuts himself off from saying more with a shake of his head.

"Ok," she says, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms over her chest. "Now tell me everything. From the beginning."

And he does. His childhood, the accident, his father's murder, his training. It's fantastic, almost too amazing to believe. His first night as the man in the mask, how he can do the things he does; identify intent through the sound of footfalls, the scent of--

"You can smell people?" she interrupts.

He smiles fondly. "Yes. Do you wanna know what you smell like?"

Karen grimaces. "I don't know, do I?"

"Summer and vanilla," he answers. "Like you just came in from outside and if I touched your skin, it'd still be hot from the sun."

It sounds like he's thought about it before. Enough to be able to put it into words like that. She's not sure she completely believes the romantic description. She gestures for him to go on, knowing now that he'll able to catch the movement. She's slightly mortified to learn he can hear heartbeats, sense body heat in the air. All the times she--he must know by now. He must know.

It's two in the morning and the billboard casts a pallid glow over the room, the lamp in the corner doing nothing to warm the light. Karen stands at the window watching the advertisements flash on a cycle. She can't decide if he's even further above her, or closer now. She thinks maybe it doesn't matter anymore. He's still talking, looking tired and miserable and it doesn't sit well with her. 

She sits next to him on the couch, where he hasn't moved for the past hour and a half. He tilts his head a little, stops talking. She knows her heart is starting to pound, knows her body is telegraphing her intent clearly enough for him to understand. He reaches out to her, brushing the backs of his fingers against her wrist, where her hands rest in her lap. He's tentative; he doesn't know if she's still upset, if she'll run like he told her to. Karen doesn't know how to even begin understanding herself right now, let alone relay it to him. All she knows is she's never wanted anyone more in her life.

She's not sure what that says about her. Maybe she gets off on the danger of a life like his. There's no surer way to feel alive than to brush with death. More likely, it's just Matt. Self-sacrificing, kind,  _strong_  Matt who still (inexplicably) wants her. 

But it's no good.

"Matt, I'll always be here, but. I'm not the kind of person you want to," she leaves the sentence unfinished. He can fill in the blanks with context so she doesn't have to say the words.

"I should be telling you that. You're the one who could get hurt for being close to me. And you're exactly the kind of person I want to," he flashes her a brief crooked smile. "Even if we don't get to, I want you to know that."

She shakes her head. "You don't understand. I'm not a good person. I'm not like you."

He doesn't say anything, waiting for her to explain. He needs to know this. Then, if he still wants her, maybe he's just as dark as she is. She moves to the window again, faces him to watch the emotions play across his face. She doesn't deserve to be spared that heartache.

"Fisk's guy, Wesley. I killed him. Shot him seven times in the chest," she says matter-of-factly, challenging him.  _See? I told you I'm no good._  She shuts herself off from it, because if she lets herself feel it again now, saying the words out loud for the first time, she'll lose it.

Matt's quiet for a moment, then licks his lips. "Do you know how many people you saved? You got to Fisk, made him sloppy, forced his hand."

Unbelievable. Does he not-?

"I  _murdered_  a man in cold blood."

"I don't believe that. He threatened you," Matt says, dipping his head to ask for the whole story.

Karen sighs. What good are the details? They're just excuses. It doesn't change the end result. "He grabbed me outside my apartment. Wanted me to convince everyone I was wrong about all the things we'd been saying. I could've agreed and then gone to-"

"Who, the police? He wouldn't have let you live and you know it."

"I should've-"

"No." He stands. "He would've found a way to get to you, and then he would've kept killing."

"I didn't have to kill him. I could've clipped him, or threatened to and ran. I didn't  _have_  to kill him." And this is the hard part. Open your mouth and say it, don't watch the disgust twist his beautiful lips. She squeezes her eyes shut and it feels like a dam bursting when she says, "But I wanted to."

There it is. Tears streak hot over her cheeks. Matt wraps his arms around her shoulders, pulling her into his chest. His steadiness makes her realize she's trembling.

"If I could've got to Fisk after Elena died, I'd've killed him," he says with force, squeezing her tightly before continuing gentler, "But it doesn't matter anymore. It's over. We can move on," he says into her hair. "That's what's been in your voice, isn't it?" 

"I still dream about it," she confesses haltingly into his neck, fighting back sobs, feeling strangely light and heavy at the same time.

"I know you. You _are_ a good person. The best kind, because you've felt this so hard." He pulls away and takes her face in his hands, wiping her cheeks with his thumbs, brushes his lips across her temple. "Come on," he murmurs, pulling her toward the bedroom, gathering a shirt and sweatpants from the dresser. She's suddenly too exhausted to do anything but follow his gentle but sure commands. Put these on, use this toothbrush, drink this, lie down. 

He folds back the covers on his bed for her and she climbs in, sliding against the silk sheets. He climbs in next to her and she curls on her side to face him, not quite touching. With the billboard's light purple glow casting over them, it's almost romantic, and easy to lose sense of time. Karen doesn't want to close her eyes; it all seems fragile enough that it might slip away before she can open them again. 

"I'm not afraid, you know," she says, shifting closer to him so their arms brush. "And if you tell me I should be I will punch you in the face."

He turns his head to muffle his laugh into his pillow.

"I almost got myself killed a couple times all by myself, thank you very much." When he turns his face to her again, he's still smiling and it warms her. Makes it easier to take this leap. "What I'm really afraid of is not getting a chance with you because you don't want me to get hurt. You shouldn't have to be alone."

"I just want to keep you safe," he says softly, reaching into the space between them to twist a lock of her hair around his finger.

"You can. Let's just do it together. Honestly, if anyone found out who you are and wanted to hurt you, they'd go after me or Foggy anyway."

"Hm, the logic," he says sleepily, closing his eyes and wrapping his arm around her, pulling her tight against his chest.

Karen falls asleep the instant she closes her eyes. It's the safest she's felt since she woke up with blood on her hands. And when she wakes with a gasp, fighting her way out of the nightmare, Matt is there to soothe her. He doesn't let her apologize, doesn't let go, and she drifts almost seamlessly back into sleep, with Matt's face pressed into the back of her neck, his steady breath ghosting over her skin.

* * *

Foggy darts out of his office when she comes in.

"Thank god," he says, following her behind her desk and enveloping her in a hug the moment she sets her purse down. "I am so sorry."

Matt must have talked to him, told him that she knows.

"It's ok, Foggy. Everything's ok now." She pats the back of his head soothingly.

He heaves a heavy sigh, and it looks like he might cry, so she pulls him in again for another quick squeeze.

"Go on, get back to work," she says gently, pushing him away.

Matt arrives shortly after. She'd gone home early that morning to change, skirting around him and basically pretending she hadn't bared her heart and her darkest secret just hours before and then slept in his arms. 

"Hi," he says softly.

"Good morning," she replies, lifting her eyes briefly, but not her face. He crosses to stand next to her chair and she stares resolutely at her laptop screen. He places two fingertips under her jaw so she tilts her face up to him. He's smiling.

"Hi," he whispers, bending to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. He lingers there long enough to feel a smile tug at her lips.

"Hi," she replies.

"Seriously? Inappropriate workplace behavior. Do we need to have a talk about sexual harassment? PDAs?" Foggy says, happily exasperated from his doorway.

Matt just turns her face so he can press a kiss to the other corner of her mouth. Foggy groans and retreats into his office.

"Coffee?" she asks as he straightens.

"Please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sighs heavily*  
> It could totally end right there and be gorgeous...but I kept going and have 2 more chapters for you. You'll forgive me, right?


	5. Take it Slow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I wasn't expecting you back here."
> 
> He doesn't say anything so she looks over her shoulder. He's leaning his elbows onto the counter, chin in one hand, half a smile pulling up one corner of his lips. Staring straight at her, in the way only he can.
> 
> "Couldn't stay away," he says finally.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALL THE FLUFF

* * *

"What do you do when you get hurt?" she asks, to open the conversation. They're on his couch, her legs over his lap, watching (or listening to) a movie. She's been trying to describe the high points to him, but his hand dipped under the hem of her jeans to circle her ankle and she lost the plot. 

There was no segue, but it takes him only a moment to catch on to her train of thought. She thinks about it a lot. Most of the time, really, and he's getting used to fielding random questions when they pop up.

"I patch myself up, or if it's really bad, I call my friend Claire. She's a nurse."

"What happens when it's so bad you can't call her?"

He turns his shoulders to her, so she elaborates. "One of these days you're not going to come in to the office and we're not going to know why or what happened or where you are."

He pauses for a beat, then lifts his chin to her, like it's all his idea. "Why don't you stay here, when I go. Make sure I come back safe."

She'd had the whole conversation mapped out to get here, but he'd just jumped about six steps and she wonders if it's crossed his mind before, too. 

He's figured out a system for how many nights he can get away with patrolling the streets, how many hours sleep he can lose and how many hits he can take before it starts to become too obvious in the daylight. It turns out to be as much as he physically can, and he feels guilty when he takes a night off, scours the papers for crimes he could've prevented. His shoulders are strong, but they can only carry so much weight. Karen wishes she could talk some sense into him, but martyrs are notoriously stubborn, and he won't even hear it. This is his responsibility now. The best Karen figures she can do is provide some comfort, if she can.

The next night he waits until Foggy leaves the office and moves to lean his shoulders back against the wall outside his door. The look on his face makes her pause. He's nervous.

"Will you come stay tonight?" he asks in a low voice.

He won't even be there most of the night, but heat shoots through her anyway. She drops by her apartment for a toothbrush and clothes for the next day, anticipation coiling in her stomach. She hadn't opened this door so she could see him in the mask again. Not strictly anyway. But now it's all she can think about.

They have a relatively silent dinner at his apartment, punctuated by forced small talk. It all feels wrong and Karen doesn't know why. Did she push herself into this part of his life? Should she have ignored it instead? He interrupts her by reaching out over the table to touch her arm, shooting her a small smile. She forgot, it happens so rarely, but he's nervous too.

There, it's right again. She loses herself in her head sometimes. Forgets that he's right here, within arm's reach. That she can touch him whenever she wants. She huffs a self-deprecating laugh that makes him shake his head and she realizes there's never been anyone else, not in her whole life, that she could have a full conversation with and not speak so much as a word.

She sits on the couch after dinner, still as stone, and watches him put on the suit over a tight workout-style shirt and shorts. When he pulls the top over his head and down his chest, she bites her lip, hard. When he fastens the boots and comes to stand in front of her, helmet in hand like he's waiting for inspection, her mouth goes dry. It's hard to dispel the illusion that he's just become someone else.

"I suppose it looks different in the light?" He sounds a little off. Unsure, maybe, of where to go from here. They're making this up as they go.

Karen stands in front of him. "Can I?" she asks, intending to finish the question, but not really sure what she's asking.

"Always," he says, and the unequivocal trust makes her throat tight.

She touches the armor over his chest. "It feels thin," she accuses, halfway intending on not letting him go after all, until he got himself some proper protection. She'd felt it once before, briefly, but hadn't paid much attention. She'd been more interested in the man in it.

"There's a chemical coating over fabric. Stronger here," he says, touching the dark contrasting areas. She still doesn't like it. Karen takes the helmet from his hand, slides it on his head and over his eyes. He adjusts the fit with a quick tug and she watches him change. The walls go up, and then he isn't Matt anymore, not completely. It's Daredevil in front of her.

 _"God,"_  she whispers as she presses in to him, and it sounds like a curse. She kisses him hard, just once, because she doesn't want him to think she has a fetish or anything, even if she does. "Good luck," she says and he smiles, slow and easy, like he can read her mind. Or her heart, at the very least.

* * *

Her new apartment feels fresh, like a blank canvas, a clean slate. Foggy is hauling boxes from the truck to the lobby, where Matt takes them up to her on the second floor. He works so much in his suits that it's a treat to see him in a faded T-shirt and jeans. Especially as the fabric strains across his shoulders when he bends to start a new stack of boxes on her living room floor.

She plies them with beer and takeout to get them to stay a little longer as she unpacks. They arrange the furniture and set up the bed frame and mattress, but anything more feels like an intrusion. 

"What else can I unpack, K?" Foggy asks, rubbing his palms together. "Some boxes?"

"Nah," she says, kneeling on the floor with an unopened box between her knees and a pair of scissors in her hand. "I'll do the rest. Thanks boys," she says and holds her palm up. Foggy slaps it, then curls his fingers and bumps his knuckles against her palm, too. 

"You sure there's nothing else we can do?" Matt asks, tilting her chin up with two fingers and leaning down to kiss her lightly. She's not sure she'll ever get used to the casual way he does that. Not sure she wants to.

She reassures them, and bolts the door after them when they go. She unpacks most of her bedroom and bathroom before the light from the windows turns grey and she has to switch on the overheads. She's on her way to take a break on the couch when a knock on the door makes her heart start to race.

"It's me," Matt calls.

He has a takeout bag in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. She's struck speechless for a moment until he holds the flowers out to her.

"Housewarming," he says, and instead of taking them, she grabs his arm and pulls him inside. He sets the food and flowers on the counter.

"Thank you," she says, shuffling the boxes on the kitchen floor to find one with plates. "I wasn't expecting you back here."

He doesn't say anything so she looks over her shoulder. He's leaning his elbows onto the counter, chin in one hand and half a smile pulling up one corner of his lips. Staring straight at her, in the way only he can.

"Couldn't stay away," he says finally. 

* * *

A thump at the roof access door makes her jump. The book she's been reading flies out of her hand.

"Christ on a cracker!" she blurts as she rolls off the couch. She's halfway across the room by the time the book hits the floor. She reaches the door just as Matt shoves it open and staggers through. 

"Ah," she exclaims, steadying him as he lurches sideways. He leaves a smear of blood on the doorframe and has a distinct limp in his wobbly gait.

"S'ok," he slurs, leaning more weight on her than she expected. "Jus' needa lie down."

Karen manages to steer him to the couch, where he collapses with a strange cross between a hiss and a groan. She kneels next to the couch, her hands fluttering helplessly over him, afraid to touch him.

"Matt, what do I do?" she asks. He fishes around his thigh for a pocket and slowly drags his burner phone out, movements uncoordinated and choppy. 

"Claire," he groans, and then doesn't say anything else for a while. They'd talked about this when she started staying over, but he's only come home with black eyes and shallow cuts until now. Karen dials Claire and they have a short, curt conversation. Claire doesn't sound surprised and is clear and concise in her instructions. Keep him still, apply pressure to any bleeding wounds, don't let him fall asleep. 

Karen sprints around the apartment, grabbing towels from the bathroom to gently press against the dark gash on his side that's been trickling blood onto the couch. Matt hisses, digging his head back against the armrest.

"Sorry, sorry," she says. "Matt, what happened?"

"More than I was expecting," he grunts haltingly, and she shushes him.

"Tell me later, if you want. Just. Claire will be here soon. You'll be ok," she says, and repeats it to herself ad infinitum until there's a knock ten minutes later. 

Karen opens the door for Claire and is happily ignored while she cleans, dresses and stitches Matt's numerous and varied wounds. They murmur together while Karen hovers nearby, cleaning up gauze packaging and fetching warm water and more towels when Claire asks for them. It sounds like the nurse is chastising him good-naturedly, and Matt groans when he laughs. Karen struggles not to insert herself in the situation.

"No more hero-type stuff for at least two weeks. Doctor's orders," Claire says as she packs up her bag. "I'm Claire, by the way," she smiles wearily, extending her hand as she passes. Karen takes it.

"Karen. Nice to meet you."

Claire tips her head toward the door and Karen follows. She doesn't stop until she's out the doorway. Even then, Matt would still probably be able to hear, if he cared to.

The nurse pauses a moment to gauge her, then decides to go on. "I'm glad he's got you," she says. "He needs someone to be smart for him. Since he obviously won't be doing it for himself." 

They share a smile of mutual exasperation and fondness and Karen feels a surge of affection for her. Matt would probably be dead five times over if not for her. Karen figures she owes her.

"I hope I can do that for him. Historically, I haven't been terribly smart where he's concerned."

Claire smiles kindly and places a hand on her arm.

"Take care of yourself," she instructs before turning away. 

Matt is trying to sit up when Karen comes back into the apartment after closing and bolting the door. 

"Hey!" she says, rushing over to gently push his shoulders back down. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"I gotta piss, Karen," he snaps.

"I'll get you a glass," she retorts through clenched teeth, and to her surprise he laughs, then winces. 

"Don't you dare," he says, still grinning.

He's halfway blinding when he laughs like that, and yes she recognizes the irony. But it's so bright there's no other word for it. It's almost hard to look at sometimes. 

"Come on," she relents and very slowly helps him up and lets him lean on her as she leads him to the bathroom. She leaves him there and tidies up as much as she can. The couch won't be saved, but she feels like she should try anyway.

She helps him to the bedroom, where he trades his armored pants for sweats and makes airy noises in the back of his throat every time he shifts on the sheets. Karen crawls in next to him and he grabs at her wrist, pulling her as far onto him as he can.

"Stitches," she reminds him, easing back a little. He only grunts in response. She curls herself around him, mindful of his injuries, and he ducks his head into her neck.

"M'sorry," he murmurs. She feels the vibrations in her chest and deciphers the words mostly by context.

"For yelling at me or for coming home beat to a pulp?"

He lifts his hand from where it rests on her hip and twirls it in the air to say _all of it_. She just puts her hand over his, when it returns to rest at the curve of her waist and listens to his breathing. She thinks he's fallen asleep when he starts chuckling softly.

"Christ on a cracker!" he mocks, snorting with stifled laughter. She pinches the only unbruised patch of skin she can find, on the inside of his bicep. He flinches and whines, "Ow! Come on Karen, I'm wounded."

"Oh that's right, my poor baby," she coos, petting his cheek and dropping a soft kiss onto his forehead.

"That's better," he says, snuggling back in to rest his lips against the hollow between her collarbones. 

* * *

"Where's Matt?" Foggy asks when she comes into the office alone the next morning.

"He's..." Karen draws out the word, trying to think of a delicate way to put it. 

Foggy grunts in sympathy. "He ok?"

"Yeah. Had to call the nurse though." She can sense his unasked question, so she adds, "She's really nice."

Foggy nods and looks back down at his work, but he's not really paying attention to it. A moment later he leans back in his chair.

"I'm so glad I don't have to lie to you anymore. It was really stressing me out," he confesses earnestly.

"Aw," Karen says, refilling his mug and patting his cheek.

"And I don't think I ever said, but I'm glad you two finally got your shit together."

"Aw," she repeats flatly.

"I mean it. From the bottom of my heart," he says, then grows serious. "I love you guys, you deserve to be happy. You deserve each other."

She wants that to be true. So badly that she's almost convinced herself it is and doesn't know if it's real or her own wishful thinking.

Karen doesn't have time to worry too much about how Matt's feeling because he shows up that afternoon, moving stiffly and faking cheerful.

"What are you doing?" Karen asks levelly, pausing mid-task behind her desk to shoot him a glare he can't appreciate. 

"I have work to do," he replies, and his rueful smile looks more like a grimace. Karen squints at him.

"If you're trying to prove that you're ok enough to go out again tonight, it's not working."

"I'm not...doing that," he leans heavily on his doorframe on his way through, affecting casual.

"I'm serious, Matt, you can forget it," she says, moving to help him to his chair. "I will follow you home and hold you down if I have to."

Matt sighs as he sits and places a hand gingerly over the cut on his side. "That...sounds like a pretty good way to spend an evening, actually."

She ignores the thrill that his rakish grin always sends vibrating through her and sets her hands in her hips.

"I know you need this, but _we_ need _you_. And you'll be no good to anybody if you get yourself killed."

He ducks his head, sufficiently chastised, and reaches out for her hips to pull her closer. His hands are like fire brands, radiating heat she can feel in her toes. He rests his forehead against her stomach for a moment, so she sets her hands on his shoulders until he tips his face up to her, looking contrite and grateful for a moment before the rakish grin is back.

"So, will you still be holding me down then, or?"

* * *

She comes in without knocking. He's expecting her, anyway. Kicking off her shoes in the entryway, she calls out to him and walks inside, still reading the newspaper in her hands.

"Did you see this thing with the new building on-"

He's leaning back against the kitchen counter, glass of water in one hand. He's still in his gym clothes, and his glasses are off. Karen abandons the newspaper on the table and walks straight to him. Takes the glass from his hand and sets it on the counter behind him. He's smiling crookedly, happy to let her manhandle him. He lifts his arms obediently when she takes the hem of his shirt and pulls it up. She stops when his shirt is up over his face and leaves it there to run her hands over his chest. He laughs, arms in the air and head stuck in his shirt.

She skims her fingertips over his sides deliberately and he yelps and squirms, but doesn't make to free himself. Karen grows impatient before he does and shucks the shirt the rest of the way off. He braces his hands on the counter on either side of his hips again, leaning back like an invitation. She continues trailing her fingertips over his skin, traces just above his waistband and leans in to hover her lips above his, just a breath away. His eyebrows pull the way they do when she's getting to him and she has to call on all of her focus to retreat.

He huffs and reaches out to drag her back in, but she dances just out of his grasp and squeals when he gives chase.

Take it slow. He loves to remind her. It had been her mandate and she stands by it, even when he's shirtless beneath her moments later, shorts low on his hips from her wriggling against him.

"Slow?" he pants, fingers carding gently into her hair. She looks up from where she'd been mapping his chest with her lips and slowly tips sideways off him to lie on the kitchen floor next to him.

"Right," she says.

He laughs, happy to have made her breathless, made her forget.

Karen wants this to be real more than she wants his body. More than she wants anything. Wants to wake up to the sounds of him moving about the kitchen, fall asleep under the warm weight of his arm. Wants all of him, even the dark places.

So take it slow. Find new ways to make him moan. Fit together the pieces that he won't say out loud. 

She's a quick study and uses her knowledge mercilessly. He likes to be teased. Feather-light brush of her fingers against the back of his neck as she passes. A puff of warm breath over the shell of his ear. She learns the way he likes her to move against him, cherishes every new piece of him and the picture that emerges, recognizing it for the gift that it is.

Watching him beg for her without words, with the curl of his hands around her hips, the way he chases after her lips when she leans away; it's almost as good as giving in. She's never felt so much like herself. The idea that she can make someone (no, not someone, _him_ ) as uncentered as he makes her is a foreign concept that she struggles to accept.

But every time he shivers under her hands, it becomes a little clearer. Every time he sighs into her mouth, she thinks maybe she could believe it. 

* * *

Foggy tries to look exasperated, but out of the three of them, he's the one who glows when she and Matt come into the office together, in the middle of a conversation about the merits of chain coffeeshops.

She stayed with Matt the night before and he managed to come home without any cuts or even bruises. When he's uninjured, it makes sleeping in his arms fully-clothed that much harder, but the tension that could be frustrating with anyone else becomes playful between them. She swats his hands when his fingertips dip into her waistband and he rolls her under him when she straddles his hips. 

"Morning, Foggy," Karen says, "You're here early."

"Nah," he replies, his glare completely undermined by the twitchy beginnings of a knowing grin. "You're just late."

Foggy presents his palm and she slaps it, harder than is strictly necessary, then curls her hand into a fist and punches his palm.

"It's Karen's fault. She's not a morning person," Matt says, which is the exact opposite of the truth and she whips around with a scoff. He's beaming at her, the goofy smile of the well and truly relaxed.

"Please, I'm not the one who hit snooze six times."

"Don't tell me you didn't enjoy the extra time in bed," Matt says, purely for Foggy's reaction. Foggy doesn't disappoint.

"Oh my god _again_ with the PDAs."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple points to mention:
> 
> Wouldn't Foggy just be thrilled to death for these two?
> 
> A lovely nonny started it and now I'm taking prompts on tumblr. hit me up: stuckylikeglue
> 
> As always, THANK YOU for all your kind comments! 
> 
> Lastly, I'm sure you've already read this because there's a criminal lack of Karedevil fics, but if you haven't, go read Darkest Before the Dawn by latbfan right now.
> 
> PS Can someone PLEASE tell me why my links/prompt fills don't show up in the Karedevil tag on tumblr?! Or do they, and I just don't see them? WTF tumblr I was pulling my hair out last night. any insight is appreciated, thank you.  
> (Update: I have been informed by mocking-morse IN ALL CAPS that my posts do indeed show up, so whew. thank you)


	6. A Success

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even when he's putting all his focus into taking her apart, he's the one who's coming undone, falling further and harder. His existence narrows to her; the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips, the heat, the heat.
> 
> Closer is never close enough anymore. Scorch yourself on the flames that surround her. In a world on fire, you burn too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little birdie told me you might like more from Matt. I aim to please.

* * *

He loves talking to her; the tone of her voice and the things she says. She's funny in that quick way that she doesn't even need to think twice about, but she always sounds surprised when he laughs. Always too hard on herself and too soft on everyone else, the best of both worlds. He could go on; her playfulness, her quickness to laugh, her unflagging compulsion for kindness.

He'd almost rather hoard all of her attention for himself than share any of it, but then he'd miss the way she heats up a room, her presence made all the more arresting in contrast with the rest of the world. The hairs on the back of his neck stand in anticipation of her touch. He'd miss the way she talks to others, different from the way she talks to him. He relishes the distinction. The way she listens to a conversation, offers thoughtful insight, makes a well-timed joke. He could go on.

So Matt agrees when Foggy asks them out for drinks with he and Marci. The two women aren't going to be best friends, but there's a foundation of confidence from the Fisk case, and Karen's trust in Foggy's judgement. Until they find something to really bond over.

Karen enjoys bringing up Daredevil's exploits with people outside their family trio. Like their opinion of him helps her gauge them. Marci's reaction is immediate.

"10/10 would bang that guy," she says casually, then glances over her shoulder to flag down the waitress for more drinks. There are eight empty glasses on the table in front of them.

Matt and Foggy both sputter, but Matt comes up laughing while Foggy just looks offended.

Karen nearly knocks over a couple glasses as she flails, smacking Matt's arm like she just hit the jackpot. "Oh my god, right?"

"Marci!" Foggy finally manages.

"What?" She sounds genuinely confused. "Oh come on Foggy Bear, you can't be mad about that. It's not like I'm ever gonna meet the guy, anyway. Karen knows what I'm talking about." 

"Oh, absolutely," Karen agrees sincerely.

"And Matt's not mad, are you Matt?"

"Not in the least," he assures her. He's buoyant as Karen leans against him, laughing against his neck. Like he would float away if she wasn't holding onto his sleeve.

Foggy sighs. "Yeah, ok. He's got that whole dark, mysterious thing going for him," he grumbles.

Matt props his chin on his knuckles, smiling sweetly at his friend. Marci doesn't notice, but Karen snorts. Which really just makes the whole day a success.

* * *

He might love it even more when they don't talk. When he can lie next to her and just feel her. Listen to the sound of her breath, the steady thrum of her heart. Catalogue the differences in her laughter; happy, nervous, giddy, surprised. The soft noises she makes when she talks to herself sometimes under her breath. Run his hands over her soft skin and know the steel underneath.

She's so beautiful it's almost maddening, and it's only gotten worse. Like any time spent not touching her is wasted. Every moment only the means to an end, to get his hands on her again.

She still thinks she's not good enough for him. Which is just. The most ridiculously heartbreaking thing he's ever heard of. It's not a sentiment she's ever spoken aloud, but he reads it in the way she bites her lip. The way she spends all her time making him forget his own name and squirming away when he gets her underneath him.

He tries to show her with soft touches, the tilt of his smile, with his every breath. But it's not enough. He's not sure what else to do, short of detailing all the ways she makes his heart jump and his skin tingle, and they're not there yet. The last thing he wants to do is scare her. Not that she scares easily, Lord knows. Maybe he doesn't want to scare himself.

He's been selfish, drinking in all that she's showered him with and thinking she would see what he sees. He waited for her to catch up to it, basking in her attention, letting himself be loved. But he needs to show her.

She calls him to say she's running late with dinner; everyone and their mother wants Thai tonight. So he stands in his doorway waiting for her. Her steps falter when she hurries down the hall and sees him there, but he's smiling, so she laughs. 

Catalogue the differences; happy, surprised, with a touch of anticipation. He's sure it must show on his face, then. When she gets within arm's reach, he grabs her, pulls her inside, his smile echoing her laughter. He pushes her against the closed door to kiss her, long and slow, licking into her mouth and stripping her coat off with one hand. He drops it on the bench along with the takeout bag.

He crowds her in the way that makes her melt against him, pushes and pulls her where he wants her, lets her feel his strength, know that he could hurt her but never will. And neither will anyone else. She'll have anything she wants. When she inches her hands under his shirt, he takes her wrists and moves them behind her, crossing them at the small of her back, a silent request. She makes a sound at the back of her throat that he almost misses for the beating of her heart, and it shoots straight through him.

He presses her into the couch, unable to move the distance to the bed. She uncrosses her wrists from behind her, but doesn't touch him again. Instead, she puts her arms above her head. Even when he's putting all his focus into taking her apart, he's the one who's coming undone, falling further and harder. His existence narrows to her; the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips, the heat, the _heat._

Closer is never close enough anymore. Scorch yourself on the flames that surround her. In a world on fire, you burn too.

Nosing his way down her throat, he peppers hot, wet kisses down to her collarbones. Licks back up to flick his tongue into the hollow behind her ear and is rewarded with the way she arches into him, chasing the pressure, then kisses his way back down again, taking his time. He pops the buttons on her shirt as he inches lower, pressing his lips to each new patch of perfect smooth skin. 

"Fuck," she breathes, and it sounds like a prayer.

He pauses at her belly button, tilts his face up to her. She's already shaking her head.

"Slow?" he asks anyway. She grabs at his shirt and hauls him back up, rucking it up at the hem so she can get her hands on the skin just above his waistband when he settles his hips between her thighs. He doesn't even try to stifle his moan when she wraps her legs around him to pull him closer.

"No," she whispers against his lips.

* * *

She's already seen the news by the time he gets to the office. Which makes it harder to say good morning and pour coffee and unpack his bag onto his desk. He dives into his current case, knowing it'll only be a matter of time. He's moving things around on his desk with a little too much force.

"Matt," she says from his doorway.

"Yes?" he asks innocently, fingers still skimming over his Braille display without really comprehending the words.

She sits in the chair across from him. Patient. He grits his teeth and leans back in his chair. Opens his mouth to pretend, but he can't force it out. She wouldn't buy it anyway. 

"It's not your fault," she says with conviction and he can't help his bitter laugh.

"No? A woman was killed right in our neighborhood and where was I?"

He was draped across Karen on her couch, his ear against her chest, listening to her heart as she watched a movie and snaking his hand under her shirt.

"You were living your own life. You can't blame yourself for that."

Sure he can.

He doesn't even need to say it. She's up and around his desk in one quick move, bracing her hands on the arms of his chair and turning him to face her.

"Listen to me, Matt Murdock. You do what you can, but you can't do it all. If you think you should, or you try to, that's how you wind up spending your life lonely and full of regrets. And I'm not gonna let you do it to yourself."

Foggy comes in before he can figure out what to say, and she spins away to return to her desk, leaving vanilla and sunshine in her wake.

Foggy speaks to him gently all morning and Matt fights the urge to throw his coffee mug across the room. He leaves early to go home and stew, and is only surprised when it takes Karen so long to follow him.

He'd opened a beer, but it's sitting on the table, still full. He opens the door for her and turns back to the living room without a word.

"Matt," she says, but doesn't continue. 

"I don't know why I bother," he spits, dropping onto the couch. He'd spent all day fighting with himself; he hadn't thought there was any more left in him, but he should know better by now. There's always fight in him. "It's never enough. I can't do this and have a life too. It has to be one or the other. All or nothing."

He's not sure he really believes it, but he's so furious and miserable he can hardly think straight. He leans his elbows onto his knees and tightens his fists in his hair. Karen sits beside him and wraps her arms around his stomach. He feels wetness against his shoulder and smells salt in the air, which heaps more guilt on the pile of guilt that he's buried under. He's covered in layers of it, caked on him like heavy mud, cracking when he moves.

She's whispering reassurances to him. You're only one man, you can't do it all, you have to know that. She tugs his hands out of his hair and pulls him against her. Matt presses his face into his favorite place, just under Karen's chin, so he can feel her pulse against his cheek. She's smoothing her hands gently over his shoulders and he feels something in him breaking. You do what you can, but you can't do it all. Live your own life. You deserve it. She holds him tighter when he starts to shake. He goes with her when she leans backward and pulls him over her, tucks his head under her chin and lets him rest his ear over her heart. 

He falls asleep there, with her fingers carding through his hair, tear stains drying on her shirt.

He wakes in the night, stiff and sore with lingering bitterness. Karen wakes when he lifts her.

"Hm?"

"Sh."

He lays them both still dressed over the sheets and pulls the comforter up to their chins.

"I'm so-" he starts, before she can drift off again. She puts her hand over his mouth, then replaces it with her lips.

"Stop," she says. So he does.

When he opens his eyes next, the coolness of early morning still cuts in the air. She's awake, he can tell by the cadence of her breath, though she hasn't moved. 

"I don't deserve you," he says. She takes a moment to take that in.

"I'm not a prize you need to earn. I'm here because I want to be. Though if we're talking about who doesn't deserve who," she starts, already smiling because she knows what he'll say next. "I'd say it's the secretary who doesn't deserve the super-"

He doesn't let her finish. After he's kissed the breath out of her, he presses his forehead to hers. Maybe the way he feels will soak through his skin into hers if he wills it hard enough. 

"Stop," he says, so she does.

* * *

He might love her. Period, full stop, no caveats, no exclusions. At all times and in all ways.

Foggy badgered her into having an official housewarming, so they sit with Marci and Miranda and Karen's friend Jill, while Karen mixes up some more lemonade in the kitchen. 

Marci is impressing everyone with her knowledge of both designer handbags and criminal law and Foggy turns to Matt every few minutes to say "I taught her that." Which she fights indignantly every time, except regarding the quality of Prada leather.

Matt quietly leaves the room to find Karen in the kitchen.

"It's the Foggy and Marci show in there. You're missing some great material," he says, leaning his forearms against the open counter across from her. He hears ice cubes clinking musically in the pitcher as she stirs, then she leans over and presses her lips to his. They're cold and wet and he parts his lips out of habit and surprise. She pushes half an ice cube from her tongue onto his and leans away quickly, giggling. 

"Didn't see that coming, did you?" she asks smugly. She's always looking for ways to surprise him. He delights in being surprised.

"I love you," he says, smiling. It's not what he thought he was going to say. The words are bland and pale next to the vibrancy of the feeling behind them, but it's a start. The ice cubes stop clinking. 

"I hope you already knew that, but if you didn't. I do," he says when she's quiet for too long, his resolve melting like the ice in his mouth. "Can I take that?" he asks, reaching for the pitcher.

"No," she says.

"No?"

She leans in to kiss him again, her hand curling around the back of his neck. She fits him, like a glove, like a puzzle piece, the spaces in her filling up the cracks in him. "I love you too," she says when she leans back. "Now you can take this."

He follows her back into her living room and carefully places the pitcher on the coffee table, then sits across the room from her, since Foggy, Marci and Miranda are sharing the couch. He bites his lip to stop his grin, but it isn't working. Foggy reaches over to smack his arm lightly and he breaks, laughing. No one else gets what's funny, but Karen's giggling and really. It just makes the whole day a success.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and support! I had so much fun writing this fic! 
> 
> PS I wrote a book called Nautical Miles, an action-packed high-seas romantic adventure! If you're interested I'd appreciate your support--and an honest review on Amazon. :D
> 
> http://amzn.to/1Owc2fC


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